Miles to Go Before I Sleep
by alexi wild-child
Summary: Max Moody knows she shouldn't have those feelings for Harry Potter. After all, he's her best friend and he has already chosen Ginny. So why can't she just be happy with Dean Thomas? And how can she be so essential for Harry's fight against Voldemort?
1. Part 1

**MILES TO GO BEFORE I SLEEP**

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_Summary: Ever since their first day at Hogwarts, Harry Potter - the Boy Who Lived - and Max Moody - granddaughter to the infamous Mad Eye Moody - have been best friends. As they grow up, they realize that they might be connected by more than just friendship. The teenangers find themselves in a difficult situation, though, since Harry's supposed to be in love with his girlfriend Ginny, and Max knows she will make everyone unhappy if she gives in and admit her love for her best friend.  
All too soon, it becomes clear that their fates are linked even deeper, though, since Harry's destiny can only be fullfilled with Max' talents. When the war breaks out, the two have to overcome every emotion they have known so far - - - for the greater good._

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**Part I**_

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"We shouldn't be doing this!" Why were these words coming out of my mouth? "We really shouldn't!" Because I knew what I did was simply wrong. What _we_ did was wrong! "We…" But his lips met mine again, and our tongues intertwined – making it impossible for me to protest.

I felt his hands on my waist, and my skin broke out in goose bumps under his fingertips. No, he isn't supposed to do this! I'm not supposed to enjoy it! It's not supposed to feel so good – so right! My body starved for his touch. Gently, his fingers skated over my ribs and stopped right under my breasts, as if he was unsure if he was allowed to go further.

"Stop it!" I broke the kiss. Not because I didn't want this – but because I wanted it too much.

"I'm sorry." He drew his hands away slowly.

"We have to go back, Potter," I whispered and turned to the door, grabbing for the knob. He stood behind me. I could hear him breathe. I could feel his presence like an aura of heat warming my back. Ants crawling up my spine.

"Moody," he said, and his voice never sounded so sad before. So powerless.

I left the room and dived into the noisy crowd in the common room without turning around. I fled. I threw myself into that mass of joyful, happy people, and I thought I had never felt so awful before. Among all these students, I felt completely lost and alone.

"There you are!" A muscular arm wrapped around my shoulder. Warm against my side. "Where have you been?"

Dean smiled at me, and I forced myself to smile back, even though I felt nauseous.

"Just… in the backroom. Looking for more butter beer," I explained hesitantly.

He was too drunk to notice the uneasiness in my words. I was surprised he was still able to talk without lulling. "Missed you."

A good girlfriend would have said something like: 'Missed you, too.' But a good girlfriend also wouldn't lie or kiss her best friend or let him touch her the way Harry had just… No! I forbade myself to think about it.

Dean dragged me over to a group of his friends. Seamus shot me the same nasty glance he has given me on a daily basis ever since Dean and I got together. Great! Even when drunk, Seamus was still the same dick!

He tried to engage Dean in a conversation about football, knowing this was something only the two of them shared. Honestly, it was okay for me that Dean and Seamus were such close friends and had about seven thousands of insider jokes. Most of those, I have to admit, I didn't even _want_ to understand. I, after all, had a lot of secrets, too, which I shared with Harry, Ron and Hermione. Well, and now, I also had a thing with Harry I couldn't talk about to anyone.

But Seamus was unhappy anyway, because even though Dean talked to him about Manchester United, he also had his arm wrapped around my shoulder. If Seamus had asked, I could have told him that I wasn't very pleased about this either. It was so… _possessive_.

There I was, in the middle of a crowd again, and Lavender Brown tried to choke me with her eyes. I know what you think, I told her in my mind, I know you despise me. My eyes wandered off to an armchair near the fireplace. Ginny was sitting there, leaning against Harry's shoulder with a serene smile on her face. And Harry? He looked at me, too. He starred at me as if I was the ultimate traitor, as if I had chosen for things to be that way. As if there was no beautiful red-haired girl by his side, adoring him with a child's need of protection.

I shook my head. No, Potter, I thought, you've chosen Ginny already. I'm not a broom or something you can trade when you're sick of your first choice.

And I was Dean's. He was the one who asked me to go to the Yule Ball with him the day we learned about the event. I wasn't his back-up plan, Potter – he didn't come to me and begged me to go with him for our friendships sake so he wouldn't embarrass himself. That's what you did.

I wasn't Dean's best friend since the moment we first met. He wasn't the boy I helped saving the Philosopher's Stone. I didn't need to assure him that I, too, could feel the presence of Slytherin's monster and believed him unconditionally. We didn't sit huddled together in a corner in Hagrid's hut, concealed by the Invisible Cloak, watching our friend getting arrested and Dumbledore being sent away. No night spent in the Howling Hut with Dean, discovering secrets and witnessing events that would change our lives and future forever. He was neither the one whom I helped surviving a tournament he was too young for, nor the one who saved me from Barty Crouch in return.

Damn you, Potter, that was all _you_!

Dean was the one who first kissed me under a mistletoe – _really_ kissed me.

And it took me almost five years to realize that you should have been that one, too, Potter.

"What are you thinking?" Dean's words catapulted me back into reality.

"Nothing," I said a little too hastily.

Seamus was still glaring. "Anyway, I think they played well and…"

A scream interrupted dearest Seamus, and honestly, I didn't think it was a pity. We all turned our heads to see Ron lying on his back in the centre of the common room. Too much fire whisky, I diagnosed with sympathy. The mindless dwarfs that happened to be our fellow students all starred at him with a mixture of delight and shock, and the only one who stepped up to help was Hermione. The best friend you could have. The best friend I ever had, certainly.

She tried to get him onto his feet, and he just dropped back onto the floor.

"I'll help you, Mione," I said.

"It's okay, I'll do this." Dean grabbed Ron under his armpits and managed to stand him up straight again. "Come on, buddy, let's get you to bed." He smiled at me as he dragged Ron up to the boys' dorm. Dean. The sweetest boyfriend you could have. He even tucked your drunken friends in for you. Definitely the sweetest boyfriend I ever had.

Hermione left the common room, too, frustrated, and Harry followed her, probably glad to have a reason to escape Ginny for a while.

"Ron can be so embarrassing sometimes," Ginny told me as I walked over to her.

"I know what you mean." I tried to laugh, but the knot in my throat wouldn't let me.

"Dean's a sweetheart, though."

"Yeah. He… really is."

"And you're such a cute couple!" She chatted on as if we were at a private tea party. "I swear you're the most adorable couple in the whole school. He's popular and handsome, and you're just so pretty! Everyone says that, Max."

I don't care what everyone say, I thought, because I hate everyone!

Ginny was so sweet that I was sure I would get diabetes any minute. "Believe me, Gine, there is no other dream couple than you and Harry. You're… _perfect_." The word cut into my larynx.

Dean returned without Ron before I could hurt myself with more words. "Thank you," Ginny said.

"No problem." He put his arm around me. "Wanna go for a walk, Max?" He knew better than to give me stupid nicknames. He knew I hated being called "love" or "sweetheart". He knew me. And he really tried to make me happy.

"Sure." We said goodbye to Ginny and sneaked out through the portrait hole. We walked through the deserted hallways in silence. Me because I still had to fight the image of Harry and his hands on my skin, and he because… I didn't know, and I didn't care back then.

Only when we had made it out of the castle and breathed in the fresh night air did he speak up. "It was getting kind of… crowded in there."

"Yeah. Kind of."

He held me against his side as we walked. Soft moonlight gave his face an even more handsome expression by softening his features. "Things are getting kind of weird with Umbridge around and all," he said.

"Yeah. She gives me the creeps."

"But DA, that's a good idea! You and Harry, you're great teachers."

"Thanks."

"And you're a great kisser." We stopped and he bent down to softly put his lips onto mine. I felt his hand slipping under my shirt and slowly – very slowly! – wandering up my back.

I buried my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. I loved him. Or at least, I liked him a lot. I didn't want to hurt him. He, too, could make excitement rise in my stomach. I longed for him, too. I enjoyed his jokes, his easy manner. I loved spending hours alone with him by the lakeside.

We were a perfect couple. Looking at it from today's point of view, I knew I could have been happy with Dean. I _was_ – for some time, at least. But I guess we just weren't meant to be. He wasn't meant for me because I was too different. He was everything I wasn't: Normal and loveable, caring and uncomplicated. Naïve enough to see me as a better person than I actually was.


	2. Part 2

**Part 2**

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Most people knew my mom's reputation. She was the daughter of the famous auror Alastor Moody – and a well-known femme fatale in the wizarding world. Men whispered as much behind her back as they openly flirted with her whenever they had the chance. The looks some women gave her sent icy thrills up my spine, even when I was too young to understand what they saw in my mother.

But I somehow felt their resentment and bitterness towards her – I felt how bad those feeling were, how they could eat you up from the inside.

My mother, though, couldn't have cared less about other people's opinions. She was one of the most self-conscious people I knew, and I adored her for her self-security and her ability to always stay calm and keep the upper hand. The only one who knew how to make her loose her composure was my grandfather. He always did it when he thought I wasn't there, naturally. But even as a small child, I had a rare talent for spying on people and eavesdropping, so I ended up knowing more things than I could possibly understand at such a young age. More things than I should have known.

So I witnessed him and my mom fighting pretty frequently during my childhood. All my grandfather had to do was hinting at the big secret my mother kept from the rest of the world: the identity of my father. My mom refused to talk about it to anyone – even and especially to me. She just told me I had no father. I was the granddaughter of one of the greatest aurors of all times, wasn't that enough of a burden to carry already, she said. What could a father possibly be good for?

I didn't know, so I accepted her explanation. After all, I wasn't an unhappy child. Most of the time, I was free to do what I wanted. I could be as wild as it suited me. A father, certainly, would have just tried to tame me, and I wouldn't have liked that one bit.

When I was eight, my mother married a wizard from Bulgaria and left me in my grandfather's care completely. I preferred it that way, since I couldn't stand her new husband or their newborn triplets. By the time I was twelve, my mother had deserted her second family again anyway to come back to Britain.

Others, though, were more interested in my parentage. There were many rumours about the man who had been allowed to father Brooke Moody's first child. Who had been prefect enough to live up to her standards and expectations?

Sirius Black, most likely, Molly Weasley thought when she saw Sirius and my mother together in Grimauld Place. Yes, it wasn't such a bad guess, since they obviously felt attracted to one another. Maybe my mother had wanted to spare me the stigmata of being the daughter of a convict, a vicious traitor?

Sirius, however, didn't like me. As much as he loved my mother, he could never get used to the thought of having me anywhere near him or his godson Harry. He didn't trust me, and I can't blame him. Certainly, he knew the truth. He might have known what I would turn out to be sooner than I did.

So I kept my distance that summer before my fifth year. I avoided Grimauld Place and even my friends and spent the better part of my holidays helping out in the Ministry of Magic, assisting Kingsley Shacklebolt, the best father I had never had. The weeks following Voldemort's return and Diggory's death, I simply wanted to forget. On the one hand, I felt selfish, since I surely wasn't the one suffering the most, but on the other hand, I couldn't help it. I simply didn't believe Dumbledore's reassuring lies about how we could stand through everything. I couldn't share his careful enthusiasm and belief in the triumph of the good.

Dolores Umbridge was the living proof for my view on humanity. She was the kind of narrow-minded, self-centred, shoe-licking hypocrite I feared. The kind of person, I knew, who was able to bring darkness to the world with her sheer ignorance. Umbridge and the rest, they were unable to overcome their petty conventions.

Not change would bring us down. The lack of change would. But they just couldn't see it. We had to get rid of the shadows. They wouldn't go away if we refused to acknowledge their existence. No, there was only one choice: We had to switch off the light and face what we feared.

Who, however, wanted to do that?

That's what I eventually told Hermione. She got angry with me while we were sitting by ourselves at the breakfast table and said she couldn't bear to see me suffer in silence any longer.

"Things are not that dark, Max," she assured me softly and put her arm around my shoulder. It was a few days after that fateful party when I had first kissed Harry, and the stress of practically having cheated on my boyfriend was adding up to all the other problems.

"I know. I'm just… tired of drama."

"What do you mean by drama?"

"Seamus. My own mother. Sirius. Sometimes, I think he's afraid of me."

"Don't be ridiculous, Max!" Hermione laughed out, much to my surprise. "He just fears for Harry's safety. And maybe he thinks you'll just encourage Harry to take greater risks than necessary."

I glared at my friend. "I would never do that! It wasn't my fault Barty Crouch jr. nearly caught him. Harry didn't intend to safe me, he just found me in Crouch's office by accident!"

"I know. But… you tend to get into the middle of things a lot. And Harry cares deeply for you. He would do anything for you. You're best friends."

My heart skipped a beating. Did she… Could it be possible that Hermione knew? "So are we," said I slowly. "And you and Harry. And Ron."

"Yes, of course," she replied, and by the smile on her face, I could tell that she had no clue. "But you and Harry… I don't know how to say it, but… Whenever there's something wrong, you understand each other without words."

I laughed. "Don't be silly, Hermione!" To tell the truth: I had been a lonely child. Parentless. Like Harry. None of us had ever known the real meaning of the word "family". We lacked something that was essential for human-beings. A deep trust that came natural to those who had learned to trust – only… we had never experienced it. That was why Harry had probably become my best friend. My most trusted friend.

"Do you love Dean?" Mione then asked all of a sudden.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that… Please don't get me wrong, Maxie, but… I just want you to be happy. And being Dean girlfriend draws a lot of attention to you."

"Does it?"

"Yeah, because like two dozen girls now feel that you stole him from them."

"That's not my fault," I said sharply.

"What's not your fault?" Ron asked as he dropped down next to Hermione, who rolled her eyes at his raw manners.

"Nothing," I replied darkly and decided I no longer wanted my oatmeal. Or any other meal for that matter. My stomach felt as if I had filled it with stones already.

"Where's Harry?" Hermione asked.

Ron shrugged and started to load eggs and bacon onto his plate. "Out practicing."

"On a Saturday morning?" Hermione raised her eyebrows. "What about Ginny?"

"He's alone."

"I think I'll join him," I decided – glad to have a reason to get out of the Great Hall. I hated noise and a lot of people in one place at the same time.

Indeed, I found Harry out on the Quidditch field, racing through the air while most other students had barely made it out of bed. I recognized the fierce determinations on his face and in his speed. He wanted to forget something he had had to think about too hard. He wanted to empty his head.

For a little while, I stood at the edge of the field, broom in hand, and watched him. Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. As a child, I had never thought that he actually _existed_. For some reason, I couldn't imagine him to be real.

Then, during my first ride on the train to Hogwarts, I met a black-haired boy exactly my age and height who had told me he hated his aunt and uncle and wanted nothing more than to just _get away_. A few hours ago, I hadn't even thought of him as human and real, and after only a few minutes, I already felt as if he was _me._ He had problems and longings and wishes I understood, because I had the same!

On the first snowy night in our first year, we had sat on the top of the Astronomy tower, just the two of us. We had talked all night and never run out of topics to discuss. We had been two innocent children, eventually feeling that we belonged somewhere. That we had something to grow up for.

"Moody!"

I froze as I heard Harry call my name. He softly landed next to me on the ground. "You just came to stare at me, or do you intend to train, too?" He asked when he had managed to catch his breath again. His cheeks were read, and sweat drops were running down his forehead and temples. He whipped them away with his arm and smiled at me.

I turned my head, pretending to study my broom, but I just needed a reason not to look him in the eye.

"Max?" he asked a little softer. "You're okay?"

"Sure," I said, my voice sounding steady. I was a great pretender, something I had inherited form my mother.

"About the other night…"

"It's okay," I said calmly – almost joyfully.

"No, it's not," he said, and I could head a nuance of offence in his voice. "You're my best friend, Moody. And I wouldn't want to lose that for anything in the world. I wouldn't want to lose… _you_."

"Same here, Potter," I replied casually and smiled at him eventually, wishing I could whip away my doubts as easily as sweat drops. "So, you wanna help me improve my flying skills?"

"I'd love to, but… I promised to go to Hogsmeade with Ginny and... I'm sorry." He looked down as if he had discovered something interesting in the mud next to my feet.

"No problem. Maybe we should both take a little time off. With all the… things going on, you know. DA and detention with Umbridge and… all that other stuff," I told him, chirping nearly like a little bird in the middle of spring.

"So, things are going okay with Ginny?" I asked him as we made our way back to the castle.

"Yeah. It's great. Well, as great as dating your friend's little sister is." He rolled his eyes as he referred to Ron and the way our friend sometimes acted when it came to Harry and Ginny's relationship.

I laughed out.

"And you and Dean?"

"Oh, we're fine. Except for maybe Seamus and his jealousy. And the fact that half of Hogwart's female student body would like to choke me in my sleep… That's why it's good to have Hermione in my dorm. Makes me feel a lot safer."

Harry kept silence, and so I decided it was better to change the topic, but I couldn't think of anything. So none of us said a word until we climbed through the portrait hole. Harry was right in front of me, but before I could see the common room, he stopped. All of a sudden, he turned around, still blocking my view, and looked at me open-mouthed.

"What?" I asked.

"You shouldn't…"

"You lost your mind, Potter?" I asked and giggled, trying to ignore the uneasiness I got when I saw his pale face. I pushed past him, slightly annoyed by his behaviour, and then I got a first glimpse into the empty common room. At least, it was supposed to be empty. On Saturday mornings, most students were out for a walk, eating their breakfast or studying in the library. This morning, though, two people had decided to stay behind and make out in front of the fireplace.

Those two happened to be my boyfriend and a fourth-year girl.

Dean was sitting in an armchair, and that girl was practically lying on top of him, her arms slung around his neck.

"Max," I heard Harry say behind me – and Dean and his spouse heard him, too, since their heads turned around simultaneously.

"Max," Dean said weakly.

"Max," Harry called my name another time when I ran out again.


	3. Part 3

**Part 3**

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I had never thought of myself as pretty. Most people told me I was _bold_. Or _curious_. For some reason, I always knew a lot about others. Maybe because I liked eavesdropping so much, or maybe because I could read faces and gestures and in between the lines of what people said… Whatever the reason was, others usually thought I was _creepy_.

Oliver Wood once told me I had a great sense of humour and that I was the only one who could make him laugh even in his darkest hours. I had had a crush on him ever since my first year, and I turned a very deep shade of red when he said that.

But pretty? Me? Dark-brown hair, dark-brown eyes, ordinary face – and very skinny. Definitely no curves. I looked ordinary, at the very best.

Before the Yule Ball was announced, I had never seen myself as a girl who boys would want to date. I wasn't like Lavender Brown or Pansy Parkinson who always stood surrounded by their circles of friends to giggle and gossip. I didn't shriek – those noises Lavender and the other girls could produce always made me want to strangle them.

One afternoon, I dropped a comment about Marcus Flint's intelligence – or lack thereof – while walking to the Great Hall with Dean. We had never been alone before as far as I could remember, and I had thought it was by sheer chance that he and I were heading for the same location at the same time. (It was, after all, not uncommon to go and have dinner in the evening, right?)

Dean laughed loudly about what I had said – louder than I had expected. He was nervous, I could tell.

"Well," he then started, "that ball seems to be a big deal. I mean representing the school and all… Kind of…"

"Ridiculous?"

"Yes, exactly," he said quickly, as if he was happy that I thought that way. "Do you intend to go?"

"I don't know yet. What about you?"

"I think my mom and sisters would be disappointed if I didn't come and see them for Christmas. What about your family?"

"The only way I could disappoint my mother is if I would turn up on her doorstep and ruin her party – or her Christmas date or whatever she plans for the holidays."

"What about Mad Eye?"

I shrugged. "He'll stay at Hogwarts, so I will, too."

"?"

"What?" I stopped and knitted my brow, not sure if he had just…

"I mean… I thought it would be…. nice… If the two of us…"

"Sure." I smiled, feeling something tickle inside of me.

"Awesome!" His lips curled up and the tips of them nearly reached his ears as he looked at me. There was a glimmer in his eyes I had never seen before – and I asked myself: Did I do that? Is that because of me?

Suddenly, he seemed to remember something else and his smile faded. "What about your grandfather?"

"Oh, don't worry. He will want to interrogate you before, of course. But I think he'll only torture you a little."

He starred at me with his eyes and mouth open, and for a moment, I feared he would fade.

"Relax, it was a joke," I said, biting my bottom lip so I wouldn't break out in a fit of laughter. "He won't care. I swear."

Dean breathed out and shook his head. "You're cruel, Max."

"I'm not!" I crossed my arms in front of my chest and teased him: "You just get scared way too easily."

A few weeks later, Harry feared he would make a fool of himself, because he had no date. He had asked Cho, but Miss Chang was already planning her wedding to Cedric Diggory.

"Tough luck," I told him. "Can I finish my essay for Potions now? Snape will skin me alive if I screw this up." For some reason, he was always stricter to me than to anyone else, though I couldn't see why. I was one of his best students, even though I sometimes blew up a thing or two.

"You have to help me, Moody."

"You want me to draw you a girlfriend?"

"Go with him! You're a girl!" Ron said.

"Great discovery, genius! Yes, I'm a girl. And so is Hermione." She had told me about Ron's and Harry's impolite offers to her a few hours prior. "But you didn't treat her exactly nice, did you?"

"No," Harry said and sighed. "And I'm really sorry for that. But you _have_ to help me, Moody, please! I… I promise I will do your Divination homework for the rest of the year."

"Tempting offer but… No."

"For the rest of this year and the next!"

"I'm already going with Dean."

"Dean _Thomas_?" Harry nearly shouted out his name as if the words were offensive.

"How many other Deans do we know?" I asked drily.

I wasn't sad or disappointed. I was angry. Furious even. But not so much at Dean, no. I was angry at myself. How could I have been so stupid as to think we could last for a longer period of time? How could I have been so damn careless and let him get close to me?

_Stupid Max! You're the granddaughter of Alastor Moody! Didn't your grandfather tell you to never let your guard down? Didn't you learn anything from him, child? _

A mean little voice in the back of my mind kept whispering similar phrases over and over as I took Fang for a walk. The dog jumped up and down in front of me, nearly knocking me off several times, but I couldn't focus on him. I loved Fang – I loved animals. I preferred their company to that of most humans that I knew, actually. But that day, not even Fang's attempts to lick my face in affection could help me.

"It's okay, boy," I told him when he had given up and trotted next to me with his head hanging low. I caressed his ears (he loved that the most) and took his snot in between my hands. "I'm sorry. You did nothing wrong and I'm treating you unfair. I'm sorry, Fang."

"_Max? Max!_"

For the fracture of a second, I was happy to hear that voice. I wanted to smile, to turn around and embrace him, but all too quickly, my memories returned, and I stayed where I was, kneeling in front of Fang and not looking up. Ignoring Dean's very existence. Was I supposed to hate him? I should try to do just that, I told myself.

"Max, listen to me," he begged with shaky words. Tears in his voice.

Slowly – to maybe make it painful for Dean – I got back up, letting my hand rest on Fang's neck. I felt his soft fur beneath my fingertips. Silky. Comforting.

Dean starred at me for a few seconds with his mouth slightly open. He looked into my eyes, studied my face closer than he had done in a while, and I did my best to stay entirely motionless. Now, I wouldn't show him love or hurt. He didn't deserve it. What he got from me was an expression as hard as stone.

And his emotions? Written all over his face! His brown orbs shaking in desperation. Lines on his forehead.

"I'm sorry, Max."

"So?"

"Honestly, it wasn't… I didn't do anything! She surprised me when I wanted to go down for breakfast. I was just trying to get away from her when you came in! Nothing happened. You have to believe me."

"Just leave me alone." I wanted to turn away, but he put his hand on my shoulder.

"Moody, please!"

"I just said I want to be left _alone_!"

"I love you, Max," he shouted out weakly, his voice almost fading completely.

I shrugged him off, once more asking him to leave me alone, and he let me go indeed.

As Dean's girlfriend, people had watched me. Especially Lavender and Parvati had been interested in what we did and where we went and so on. The first days following our breakup, the others students gossiped, naturally. Whispered conversations behind my back. Giggles following me down the hallways.

My friends – especially Harry – tried to cheer me up, or complained about Dean and told me what a jerk he was. I only ever said I didn't want to talk about it, so they stopped their attempts to get anything out of me. Instead, things went back to normal, and I was grateful for it.

Soon, nobody cared anymore. After a week, there were new rumours about other people, and I was forgotten. Fortunately.

I was happy in a way. I buried myself in schoolwork and wrote a Potion essay for which Snape had to give me full credit. The sour look on his long, hollow face when he handed me the paper was worth a thousand breakups, I thought for a few seconds. He glared at me as if he would rather swallow poison, or kiss Sirius Black. The DA meetings kept me busy, too. Like Harry, I was good at Defence Against Dark Arts - I wasn't Mad Eye Moody's granddaughter for nothing, after all! So I helped him teach the others, and that meant I had to be with ten students all at the same time so they wouldn't blow up the Room of Requirement.

When I saw Harry and Ginny together, I ignored it. I ignored the nagging in my chest every time I heard someone say Dean's name. I did everything to avoid any unpleasant feeling. For once, I was too sick of all the drama. I was a warrior, and warriors don't lament over their fate. I was stronger than that.

"You're creepy, Max," Ron told me one afternoon while we were doing our Transfiguration homework together in the library. "I swear you have ice running through your veins!"

"Is that what your mother says about mine?" I growled, since I knew where he had that metaphor from. Ice Queen was one of my mom's nicknames.

Ron flinched as if I had hit him. "No," he lied quietly. "I just…"

"_What_?"

"Sorry," he muttered. "I just think… It's good you're okay. We're happy you're coping so well. Honestly. I would be sad if you were as depressed as Dean is."

"What about Dean?" I asked before I had even thought about it. I didn't _want_ to care about him, did I?

"Didn't you notice that he barely goes to classes anymore? He claims he's sick and stays in bed all day."

I knew he hadn't been to any DA meetings lately, but besides that, I hadn't been very attentive when it had come to his affairs.

"It's not my fault," I said and shrugged.

I could ignore Ron's comments. He was my friend – he said so much that it was only natural I skipped some of the things he told me. But it was different when Seamus approached me. He hated me – and if he was that desperate to try and talk sense into me, I had to pay some attention to him.

"Hey, Moody. Can we talk?" Sweet Seamus asked me in a dull voice one afternoon after History of Magic.

The hours I spent in that class were the most dreadful ones in my life, or so I thought back then, so I always passed them in a state of half-sleep, and I wasn't quite awake when Seamus wanted to discuss his best friend with me.

"You're a bitch, you know that?" Seamus spat, gathering all his courage.

"If you want to insult me, we should go outside, so I can kick your sorry ass into the lake without having to throw you through the wall first. I guess you would like that better."

He ignored my comment and went on: "Dean's suffering. He's not the same since you broke up."

"_I_ didn't break up. He smooched with some fourth-year rascal."

"_Rascal_ is an interesting title, by the way. Did you know that people think you're the greatest rascal in Hogwarts history?"

I rolled my eyes. "Are we here to discuss my reputation?"

"No. I want you to talk to Dean."

"As I said: I caught him shoving his tongue down another girl's throat. Not even you can make me the bad one here, Finnigan."

"Yes! Because the way you treat him is cruel. He said he was sorry. He tried to explain it to you. Damn, Moody, he said _he loved_ you. And you refuse to hear him out. Now he's depressed and wasting his life in bed!"

"In bed?"

"He's been "sick" all week. Or did you see him lately, genius?"

"All week?"

"Didn't Harry or Ron tell you?"

No, they had not, since they feared my reaction to hearing Dean's name. My indifference, as Harry said, made his skin break out in goose bumps. "Where is he?"

"In his _bed_." He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "And I don't know how you can be so cruel. Did you ever even care about him?"

"Of course I did!"

"No!" He contradicted me. "I'm sure you didn't. You're heartless."

"Leave her alone!" Harry must have been standing nearby, overhearing our conversation. Now, he walked over to us, positioning himself in between Seamus and me. "She's suffering, can't you see that? Dean shattered her trust! Leave her alone!"

Sighing, Seamus turned around and left without another word.

"Thanks. But you wouldn't have to do that," I said to Harry.

"You're okay?" He put his hand onto my shoulder, squeezing it softly. "He shouldn't have said all that. He had no right"

"I liked him. A lot," I whispered. "And to be honest, I'm still in the progress of letting him go. I'm not entirely… You know… over it."

"I already figured that out."

"Is it really that bad? I mean… Is Dean really… so very upset?"

"Forget about it," he said, "It's his own fault."

Scrunched up pieces of paper were lying all around Dean's bed. They reminded me of snowballs. Frozen feelings. A pathetic attempt to deal with his emotions. No, Dean wasn't made of ice. Dean was warmth and wood. He was fire and softness. He couldn't hide what he felt, he couldn't hide he was hurt. He wasn't wired that way. He wasn't like me – he was the opposite: showing the world what was going on inside of him. Proofing he was strong by being able to show others he had weaknesses.

"Dean?" I asked carefully, my mouth very dry suddenly.

He looked up for a few seconds and then turned his attention back to his drawing. "You're not supposed to be here," he muttered. "It's the boys' dormitory."

I walked over to his bed and sat down on the edge. "I heard you're not feeling well."

"I'm fine. As fine as you are."

For a moment, I thought about just leaving again. After all, he had made a mistake, so why was it me running back to him? Because he had already tried to talk to me, and I had turned him down within a blink. I had only thought of myself, I realized. Now, my inadequacy had caused a fundamental change in one of the most open, most good-hearted people I knew.

The Dean Thomas lying there on his bed, scratching lines into paper with his brow knitted wasn't the boy in whose arms I had cuddled up just a few weeks before.

"If that's the case indeed, you must be in a horrible state. Since that's how I feel," I admitted quietly. If he had the courage to show me what was going on inside of him, I owed him to at least try to do the same.

Now, he eventually lifted his head and gazed into my eyes. "That's not the impression I get when I watch you. You seem to be coping very well," he explained, and for the first time in five year, I heard bitterness in his voice. Frustration. Something had crushed his world. _I_ had crushed his world, and it wasn't something he was familiar with.

"I'm not. You really hurt me, Dean." The words hung between us for a few seconds, and then, Dean closed his eyes. Taking a closer look at him, I noticed tears.

"I'm really sorry, Maxie."

"You already said so," I mumbled. "And I turned away and walked off. I'm sorry for not hearing you out. I… I just couldn't do it that day. Cause I cared more for you than I dared to admit."

"And now?" he wanted to know before I had even closed my mouth again. Fiery one.

How was I supposed to make myself vulnerable again? I couldn't! I had already been so stupid once, I couldn't possibly give him another chance to break my heart. But a part – an illogical, self-destructive part – wanted to do just that. "I still do."

He leaned forward, put his hand onto the back of my neck and drew me closer. Carefully, as if he was dealing with a fragile little animal, he put his lips onto mine, and just then, I realized how much I had missed his touch. The feeling of his skin against mine. His undivided attention turned towards me.

"I meant what I said," he whispered. "I love you, Max. And I'm so… I'm just so sorry for what happened. I promise I would never cheat on you. Cause you're the only one I care about, I swear."

No, I wouldn't say I loved him, too. I wouldn't go that far! But I couldn't just sit there and say and do nothing, so I kissed him again. He could take that as a "I love you, too", I didn't care. As long as I didn't have to say it. Or as long as I didn't have to admit the truth to him and myself.

"So you wanna get out of that bed and go for a walk with me?" I asked. Talking this out under open sky would make me feel more comfortable.

"Or why won't you just come in?" He gave me a sheepish grin, and I rolled my eyes in good humour.

"You're impossible, Thomas!" Why did I just forgive him that easy? He had betrayed me… But at the same time, he had apologized, and when I had rejected him, he had been so depressed. I had taken away the happy Dean – I had turned him into a bitter one – but with so little effort, I had been able to change him again. To give him back happiness.

Oh, Dean, you fool! Why did you give me so much power over you? Why did you make yourself so vulnerable?

Seriously, tell me. I'm curious. You had everything: You were handsome and popular. You could have had any girl you wanted. So why did you choose me?

You could have had a girlfriend who would have adored you. Who would have been your greatest fan, always there at the side of the field cheering at you. Living just to please you.

Instead, you chose me.


End file.
